


The New Year's Murders

by sturms_sun_shattered



Series: Routine Calls [2]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Banter, Bisexual Male Character, Closeted Character, Conflicted Stefan Bekowsky, Deliberate Values Dissonance, Gen, Gritty, Hate Crimes, Homicide only investigates cases for good press, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Investigations, Jack Kelso is struggling, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Slow Burn, dirty cops, not romantic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturms_sun_shattered/pseuds/sturms_sun_shattered
Summary: In the short months since Cole Phelps was lost, his friends and colleagues have tried to move on as best they can.  The LAPD is getting a clean sweep from District Attorney Petersen.  Stefan Bekowsky considers his moral obligations as a homicide detective.  Jack Kelso is just trying to keep his life together.  A series of murders begins to unearth personal and professional questions for everyone who is drawn into the investigation.





	1. Homicide

**Author's Note:**

> Stefan Bekowsky grapples with questions of justice while on a case the LAPD finds unsavoury.
> 
> Mature rating is for dark subject matter rather than sexual content. A little bit of sexual content...it's just not really my forte.

**January 1948**

“Y'know Bekowsky,” said Rusty in a cloud of cigarette smoke, “never thought I'd say this, but you're working too hard.”

“You and me both,” Stefan replied darkly as they left the coroner's office, “I mean that you would say that, not that we’re both working hard, because I am clearly carrying us here.”

“You’re making up for time off,” Rusty said, not seeming offended at all that Stefan had accused him of laziness.

It was unseasonably cool, even for a January and Stefan was not eager to stay out in the dropping temperature as the city darkened around him. He paused anyway for a moment to light up beside Rusty. After seeing the body laid out on the slab he sorely needed it.

“Maybe I’m just a better detective than you thought,” he said.

“It was a low hurdle.”

“I’d just rather solve it and put someone behind bars,” said Stefan defensively.

“You don’t have to worry about it so much; you’re certainly not going to end up in the papers for this one. Think someone's gonna miss a fruit like that?” Rusty said.

“I have to assume you mean other than his wife and kid?” said Bekowsky grimly, crushing out his cigarette and heading for the Nash.

Stefan got into the passenger side of the car and slid across the bench to the driver’s seat. Rusty took a final drag on his cigarette, tossed the butt and joined Stefan heavily in the car.

“Who says she didn't do it?” Asked Rusty, with is usual train of logic.

“She’s half his height!”

“Or had someone do it for her...”

“Even if he was sleeping with men behind her back, what good would it do her to kill him? All of the evidence says Morton supported his family, went to work every day, put food on the table...No, she seemed pretty broken up about it, and she didn't mention anything about him being a homosexual.”

“Why would she? The shame of having married one of those.”

“I imagine you ex-wives are familiar with the shame of marrying the wrong guy.”

“Prick. We’ve just got to see what she knows. I wouldn't put my money on the broad anyway. Probably the guy who was fucking him,” said Rusty in his usual fashion.

“I guess we’ll see what we can shake loose tomorrow. Let's get the report in and call it quits.”

“You can get the report in if you're feeling ambitious. It's Tuesday”

“So you're bowling?”

“What I do in my spare time is none of your beeswax.”

“Yeah well, if you see Floyd Rose there, remember not to take bribes or the department will cut you off at the dick.”

“I don’t take bribes, Bekowsky. Besides, half the department getting cut is enough to keep a man on the straight and narrow.”

Even as they rolled into the lot beside Central Station, Stefan didn’t believe for a moment that Rusty was as incorruptible as he pretended to be. Rusty did raise an important point however, that the department had dropped some weight since the new District Attorney had taken over with the goal to clean up the LAPD.

Stefan gave the car over to Rusty and went upstairs to write up the report. He poured himself s cup of lukewarm coffee, and sat down at his desk with his notebook. Only Harry Caldwell still occupied the room, but he picked up his paperwork and nodded to Stefan on the way out. The lamp light pooled yellow around the desk in the darkened office. A sealed brown envelop had been placed on his desk at some point while he had been out. Turning it over in his hand he saw it was from the crime scene photographer.

Stefan opened the envelope. It was the newly developed photos from the crime scene where Stefan and Rusty had began their morning. He reviewed at the photos of the James Morton’s face, swollen almost beyond recognition from a beating, though the black and white muted the gruesomeness somewhat. In the end, the identifying feature had been a tattoo he had acquired during his military service. Morton’s wedding ring had not been recovered, though it seemed that this wasn't a theft; his wife had said he regularly removed it because it didn’t fit. Carruthers had determined that the man had had what appeared to be a consensual sexual encounter with another man in the hours before his death.

“Probably took the wedding ring off before that,” Stefan said to himself, doubting the excuse Morton had fed to his wife. 

It's what he would have done in the same position. Now that was a funny thought, one he hadn’t revisited in a while. Easier to just push it aside since he liked dames just fine and such thoughts about men were an intrusive and unwelcome fancy he had learned to ignore.

Stefan finished up with his report for the evening and placed it in a dossier with the crime scene photos. Everyone said when you got to homicide you had it made, but Stefan found himself missing traffic enormously, he had never had these conflicts while scraping kids off the pavement. He scoffed to himself as he pulled on his dark trench coat, gave the desk sergeant a quick wave and left for the night. It was nearing freezing outside, judging by the way Stefan’s breath clouded around him so he hurried to his car. The vinyl seats chilled Stefan though his clothes as he started his car.

When he was in traffic all he had wanted was to advance, particularly after Cole was in an out on his meteoric rise through the ranks. Perhaps everyone ended up in over their head eventually, he thought. Hell, Rusty had been rotting away in homicide, swearing up and down that husbands, wives, and lovers did it since Stefan had first encountered him as a beat cop. Well, Stefan reflected, he wasn’t in over his head yet, so long as he did the legwork and didn’t let Rusty push him to take the easy way out of the case, regardless of whether or not the department thought the victim deserved justice.

~o~

After a chilly night, the next day was back to its usual Southern California warmth. As Stefan and Rusty left the widow Morton’s house she slammed the door behind them. The woman had lost control completely upon finding out about her husband’s affair. Rusty lit a cigar as soon as they got to the car, but Stefan felt sick to his stomach.

“How could she not have known?” asked Stefan, starting the car.

“Protestants are like that, they don’t lay bricks,” shrugged Rusty.

“Are you kidding? That’s your explanation? She has a kid, they must have...”

“Women don’t like it anyway.”

“Maybe not the way you do it...” said Stefan under his breath.

“Broad probably thought she was the luckiest wife there ever was, not having to perform her nightly duties.”

“Christ, Rusty...”

“Hey, at least we got the wedding ring and the name of his tail-gunner,” said Rusty.

Stefan clenched the steering wheel.

“We got the name of a friend—”

“Wife said he was his best friend. You have a ‘best friend’ Bekowsky?”

“Do you not? We don’t know anything about the guy anyway.”

“Far as I’m concerned we know everything there is. This’ll be cracked in time for dinner.”

They pulled up to the address that Mrs. Morton had given them before she had let out that wail that still seemed to ring in Stefan’s ears. Stefan parked and the two of them approached the building.

“Paul Bennett...apartment 10,” Stefan read off the mailboxes.

“Lives alone, doesn’t look good,” said Rusty.

Stefan took the stairs two at a time, Rusty puffing behind him. He approached the door and knocked.

“LAPD, open up.”

No sound came from inside Bennett’s apartment, but Stefan thought he heard someone press themselves against the door in the apartment directly across the hall. He drew his revolver and motioned for Rusty to cover apartment 9. It was probably just a nosey neighbour, but Stefan wasn’t taking any chances. He kicked in Bennett’s door and performed a quick sweep.

“Clear,” he said, returning to the hallway.

Rusty rapped on number 9’s door. It slowly opened to reveal a dark-haired woman who was not more than thirty years old. She held an empty whiskey tumbler in her hand, evidence of her eavesdropping.

“LAPD, Detectives Bekowsky and Galloway. Mrs...?” probed Stefan.

“McManus, Anna McManus.”

“Ma’am,” said Rusty, glancing at the stout glass with amusement, “have you heard anything useful?”

“Mr. Bennett left yesterday. I ran into him after walking the children home from school. I hope he’s not in any trouble.”

“What time was this?” asked Rusty.

“Nearly 4:30.”

So Mrs. Morton had called Paul Bennett to tell him of her husband’s murder.

“Did he say where he was going?” Rusty pressed.

“No. I know his folks live back east.”

“This might be a bit of an uncomfortable question, ma’am, but did Bennett regularly have any male visitors?”

“Like...meetings?” asked Mrs. McManus.

“That’s not quite what I’m getting at...”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, detective. If there’s anything else?”

“I’ll let you know,” said Rusty as Mrs. McManus closed the door.

“Let’s give Bennett’s place a good look,” Stefan suggested.

“Y’know, I really thought a gossipy broad like that would give us more to go on,” said Rusty as they entered the apartment.

Rusty picked up the phone saying, “I’m going to get a state-wide APB put out on Bennett.”

Stefan noted the untidy state of the apartment while Rusty contacted dispatch. The apartment was not filthy, though it looked as though Bennett had packed up all the important things and knocked over others in the process. A Philco floor radio sat in an indented arch in the wall below a mantle. Stefan noticed that the dust had settled evenly on the mantle, but there were three clear spots where photo frames had likely stood. The rest of the apartment yielded similar developments: no clothes or shoes were left in the wardrobe, no razor in the bathroom...Bennett had no intent to return any time soon.

“You see this, Bekowsky?” called Rusty.

Stefan closed the medicine cabinet and joined Rusty in the kitchen. The older detective held up a white booklet.

“Socialist literature?” said Stefan.

“A commie and a queer...and,” Rusty pointed at the full bookshelves that stood on either side of the desk.

“An intellectual?”

“A professor!”

“Surely a professor would have better digs than this,” said Stefan skeptically, “you think he might be student or something?”

Rusty scoffed, “either way, colleges are havens for that kind of scum!”

Stefan picked through the books, looking inside the covers.”

“I dunno, Rusty...none of these book have library stamps in them. I think they’re his.”

“Library stamps?”

“Have you read a book ever?”

“Not if I can help it. We should get some uniforms to check around the college, but we probably won’t get anything.”

“Now what?”

“I say just leave it. If anyone picks up Bennett we can wrap this up. Get technical services up here, see if they can find anything interesting.”

“You really think Bennett did it? He left after we interviewed Mrs. Morton yesterday, she must have contacted him to tell him. If he did it, why hang around?”

“So he wouldn’t look suspicious. This guy’s not your average moron.”

Stefan called for technical services. Then he checked with R&I for a criminal record on Bennett, but the guy was squeaky clean. He had the terrible feeling they were missing something important, but with no evidence to go on, Stefan could only go back to the station and rifle though his notes, looking for something he must have missed.

~o~

Two days later, Stefan was still no further than he had been when they had left Bennett’s apartment. Technical services had turned up nothing of interest, no one at the college had heard of Bennett, and the APB had yielded nothing.

“Bekowsky!”

Stefan nearly jumped out of his skin as Donnelly barked his name. His red face promising a dressing down.

“Yes captain?”

“In my office.”

Stefan followed at a distance. Rusty was already in the captain’s office, smoking a cigar and looking relaxed.

“Sit down, Bekowsky.”

Stefan closed the door and sat, he tried to keep his face neutral and his temper even, waiting for the inevitable tirade.

“Drop the Morton case,” Donnelly said, remarkably calmly.

“Captain, the motivation doesn’t fit—”

“Lad, are you deaf? I said drop it!” the captain shouted.

“Yes sir,” Stefan gracelessly acquiesced.

“I will not have our limited resources wasted on this aberration. If Bennett returns to California you can conduct your interview. Until then, I don’t want to hear another word about this.”

The captain gave Stefan one last meaningful look and turned to them both.

“You are two of my best detectives. I need you to attend to a case at Belmont High School. A young woman has been found dead on their football field.”

“Sure thing, captain,” said Rusty, getting up with a sigh.

Stefan nodded and followed his partner to the Nash. Rusty got behind the wheel and Stefan sat in the passenger seat, his jaw clenched and staring straight forward.

“Did you tell the skipper I was still working the case?” he asked at length.

“You mean did I tattle on you?” Rusty ridiculed Stefan.

“Well?”

“No. I didn’t need to. Maybe next time I tell you to drop it you’ll get it through your thick skull. Skipper wants us to focus on crimes that matter.”

“You mean crimes with sex appeal to win over the press,” said Stefan acerbically.

“Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“I’m not here to get my face in the paper,” said Stefan.

“LAPD needs some good press right now. All the corruption that Petersen is digging up is giving people a bad impression of the police.”

“Ha,” Stefan guffawed.

“No laughing matter, Bekowsky. You know why the skipper partnered us up?”

“Because he enjoys watching people suffer?”

“Because he’s hoping Phelps rubbed off on us. Put us together and maybe we’ll keep hounding for glory like he did. Make the department look good. So we take this nice girl and we solve her case. She gets justice and we look good in the press. There’s no story for convicting a faggot killer.”

Stefan slumped back slightly in his seat. No wonder Rusty was a drunk: homicide wasn’t about justice—though Bekowsky had always suspected the LAPD never was about justice—homicide was just a press magnet, and they had become the hollow, smiling faces of the company.


	2. Private Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Kelso has been keeping to himself.

Jack Kelso sat in his car, spy cam in hand waiting for his target. He jumped when the passenger door unexpectedly opened and someone settled into the passenger seat.

“Jack Kelso” purred Elsa Lichtmann. “Why have you not visited?”

“I’m working, Elsa,” he said.

They had sought eachother’s forgiveness after the funeral, but Jack was still avoiding anyone who had run in Phelps’s circles. He had the distinct feeling that there was still plenty of blame to go around. Not one for dwelling on all the lives lost that might have been him but for good timing, Jack kept to himself, sometimes speaking with no one for days.

“You’re taking photos of adulterous couples,” said Elsa, gently taking the camera from his hands.

“A man’s got to eat.”

“You could take any job, Jack. Why do you do these filthy jobs?”

Jack didn’t answer, just took his camera back from Elsa’s slender hand. Certainly he had been taking some jobs that were beneath him lately, but they paid the bills. After seeing how Petersen pardoned half of the crooks involved in the Suburban Redevelopment Fund and let off some of the worst offenders in the LAPD to secure his own position, Jack had walked away from Petersen’s weekly paycheques.

Elsa sat silently, that weirdly knowing look on her face as Jack contemplated these developments.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“You think you are the only one who spies?”

“You’d better be careful saying something like that. Given your origin it might be misconstrued as an admission of espionage.”

“Do you think I’m a spy?” she asked, running her fingertips down the back of his neck.

“No...but were you having someone tail me?”

“Jack,” said Elsa, “I’m worried about you. You sleep in your car, you take these disgusting jobs.”

“I sleep in my office now, actually,” he said flatly, as though that was much of a step-up from having no home address.

“Come stay with me. You don’t seem well,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

It hadn’t been the first time Elsa had offered, but there were many things holding him back from accepting, not the least the spectre of Cole Phelps that seemed to creep up on him whenever he was near Elsa.

“Are we not friends, Jack?” she asked.

She was used to getting her way with that sultry tone, Jack thought, but its effectiveness on him had been limited from the start, Phelps’s face always reflecting in her eyes. He had made her happy, and Jack was nowhere near up to that task.

“We’re friends, Elsa. But sometimes friends need a little space.”

She didn’t look disappointed. Rather, she looked like she knew something that Jack didn’t and the thought twisted his stomach. In direct challenge to his request for space, her hand returned to the back of his neck, a touch that was sensual and comforting.

“Let me help you,” she said.

The nights had been unbearably chilly on the worn couch in his office, with only a fire blanket and   
pillow that smelled of mildew for comfort. It was certainly more comfortable than many nights he had spent covered in bug bites, dirt, and the blood of his men, but he wanted to put aside that benchmark and try to live in the world he had fought to come home to.

“Fine, I’ll visit you when I’m done here,” he said resignedly.

She brushed a kiss against his jaw and left the car without another word. Jack returned his attention to the window, waiting to catch a photo of the man leaving the building. He desperately wished he could take a higher calibre of cases, but for now he facilitated a couple divorces per week to keep his meagre life together.

~o~

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Elsa.

It was past four in the morning, and Elsa was in her night gown, a silk robe pulled tight around her in a charade of modesty. Jack entered the apartment, his feelings of foreboding overshadowed by the exhaustion he felt after the uncomfortable weeks since he had been kicked out of his apartment. He sat down with Elsa.

“Just rest, Jack,” she said wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

His eyes caught the incredible blueness of the veins on her pale arm as her silk sleeve slid back. He took her hand, and slid back the sleeve to see the track marks near the cook of her arm. He took pause, and she did not look ashamed.

“Elsa...”

“These are old, Jack.”

“They’re recent,” he said. “Yell me the truth, you owe me that.”

Elsa took her arm back and covered it. It occurred to him that the entire production of the night had been Elsa begging for help, but Jack was at a loss. 

“I need a friend to keep me company.”

“I can’t do for you what Cole did,” he said uncomfortably.

“Of course you can’t,” she said.

“I mean...I think you’ve got the wrong idea. Elsa, if you want me to help you, I will do anything I can, but I can’t take Cole’s place.”

Elsa looked offended. Maybe he had misunderstood the situation more than he thought. He did tend to screw up completely with women. He could never seem to get a reading on them, despite growing up with two sisters.

“We’re friends, Jack,” she said, just as she had said earlier.

“We are,” he agreed cautiously.

“I would not want you to replace Cole. I don’t need your love,” she said, that weirdly knowing look in her eyes again.

Jack mind worked furiously for some sort of compromise. Whatever Elsa was saying he didn’t have the energy to decode it right now.

“Elsa,” he said, trying to walk the line between saving-face and preserving her dignity. “You’re right, I’ve been down on my luck lately. Would it be alright if I stayed here for while?” he said.

“Of course, Jack,” she said, holding his face fondly.

She disappeared briefly and returned with a clean, soft pillow. She placed it on the sofa for Jack and turned to glide away into her bedroom.

“Thank-you, Jack,” she said from her doorway, “I feel safe with you here.”

Jack stripped off his jacket, shirt, and tie and turned off the lamp. Through Elsa’s balcony window he could see the lights in the hills, and the glow of downtown reflected in the atmosphere. In spite of his exhaustion he felt like he could barely keep his eyes closed. Elsa felt safe with him here? Was she in trouble with someone? This thought troubled him and he felt it best to confront her directly rather than wonder about it when some bastard was standing over him with a revolver. He arose and knocked on her bedroom door. She opened it, seemingly not having gone to bed yet.

“Elsa, what do you mean, that you feel safe with me here? Are you in trouble?”

“No, Jack,” she said, her small smile seemingly covering something profoundly funny.

“What then?”

“I don’t talk about the things that can get people in trouble.”

“You’re not exactly putting my mind at ease.”

“You keep me safe from myself,” she said.

Jack wasn’t sure he believed her.

“Go to sleep, Jack,” she said.

Jack returned to his spot on the sofa. He usually valued Elsa’s directness, but the entire night had been a confusing session of secrets and withheld information. Tomorrow he would deal with this all. After he developed those pictures for his client...


	3. Rusty's Razor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stefan grapples with the realities of the homicide desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing imagery related to a case ahead.

Rusty was right; it was the boyfriend.

Sitting in interview room 2, his notebook open, Stefan was shocked how easy it had been to crack the man in front of him. Apparently the guilt had gotten to him, and the greying-haired bank manager could no longer hold up under the strain.

“I never meant for it to get that far,” Jennings wept.

“You beat Bonnie Taylor to death. She was seventeen,” Stefan said, his eyes briefly following Rusty as he paced behind Jennings. Rusty seemed more on edge than usual.

“How could I let my wife and daughter find out? I tried to break it off several times, but Bonnie had it in her head that I would leave my wife for her!”

“I wonder why she thought that,” said Rusty, slamming his hand down beside Jennings, leaning into his personal space forcing the pathetic man beside him to shrink back.

“We interviewed several of Bonnie’s friends from school,” said Bekowsky evenly. “She was showing off a sapphire ring you had given her, saying that it was an engagement ring.”

“I gave that to her when she threatened to go to my wife,” he said, shying away from Rusty.

“You bought her off. So the little bitch was manipulating you, getting fancy jewellery in exchange for keeping her mouth shut. But she didn’t want to keep her mouth shut anymore, maybe you just couldn’t afford her silence; you couldn’t stand it so you killed her,” said Rusty in that mix of understanding and loathing that he reserved for interrogations.

“It wasn’t like that,” pleaded Jennings.

“Alright, Mr. Jennings. Tell us how it was then,” said Stefan, leaning in and resting his arms on the table.

“I dropped her off at the school that night. She liked to walk home so her folks could believe she was at some sort of school function.”

“Instead of getting fucked by some old man,” Rusty interjected venomously.

“We were in my car in the parking lot. I told her that it was over and she...she lost her temper. She screamed and cried and hit me...”

“So you hit her back,” Rusty egged him on.

“I couldn’t stop myself! She was like a wild animal! She stumbled out of the car and disappeared behind the school...it was an accident! I didn’t murder her!”

“No. You just injured her so badly she collapsed in the athletics field and died of head trauma. Walter Jennings, you are being charged with manslaughter in the death of Bonnie Taylor,” said Stefan getting up. “An officer will be here with your statement to sign.”

Rusty followed Stefan out into the corridor where Donnelly was waiting.

“Manslaughter? A beast like Jennings destroyed that poor girl and all you think her life is worth is manslaughter, Bekowsky?” Donnelly barked.

“The evidence pointed to manslaughter. His confession is consistent with the evidence,” Stefan defended himself.

“Bekowsky, you are proving to be a tremendous disappointment. Get out of my sight, boys!”

The two headed past the sergeant’s desk. Rusty didn’t seem bothered by the captain’s shouting, but Stefan was still not used to being bawled out for completing a case; particularly since they had managed to get the guilty party with minimal trouble.

“You want lunch?” Rusty asked Stefan.

“Yeah,” said Stefan, following Rusty, “you drive.”

Once they were in the car and safely out of earshot of the department Stefan posed Rusty a question.

“Was that the wrong call?”

“I don’t think so. Skipper just wants it to be like the good old days when the Black Dahlia was keeping us in the paper. D.A. would have commuted it to manslaughter anyway. Jennings sure as hell ain’t the first guy to punch a broad’s lights out.”

Rusty parked on the side of the road near Mallory’s Cafe. Stefan hated when Rusty talked like that; sure, he was the last to call himself a gentleman, but he tended to stop short of violence.

“It’s the way things are,” Rusty said, catching Stefan’s expression.

“Doesn’t stuff like this bother you? That Taylor girl was about the same age as your daughter.”

“My daughter has more sense than to go around screwing some old guy for his money,” said Rusty pulling open the door to the hole-in-the-wall diner.

“How’s that?” asked Stefan, sliding into a green-seated booth.

“She knows how the world works. Her mother may never have quite caught on, but I don’t believe in sparing her the ugly truth.”

“Your bedtime stories must have been just a delight,” Stefan joked flatly.

“You tell me how great kids are when you have one of your own. You keep screwin’ around and you may find one you weren’t expecting,” Rusty snapped.

“Ha. Don’t worry about me, Rusty.”

“Afternoon, boys. Good to see you again, Rusty. Can I get you a coffee?” said the waitress.

“I’ll have whatever you’re hiding under the counter, Elsie,” said Rusty.

“I’ll have coffee, and a roast beef sandwich,” Stefan said, barely looking over the chalkboard menu.

“Rusty?” she prompted.

“Gimme the steak plate,” he said.

“Comin’ right up.”

“You didn’t even look at her,” said Rusty, lighting a cigarette.

“What?”

“You normally make a pass at every waitress. You got a broad?”

“Jesus, you sound like my sister...if my sister were a foul-mouthed prick,” said Stefan defensively.

“You haven’t said anything, and you’re not exactly quiet about it when you make it with a broad. What’s wrong with her? She only have one eye or something?”

“No, it’s just nothing serious.”

“Little Polak’s getting his end away,” said Rusty, a weird sort of teasing glee in his voice.

“Drop it...and there’s nothing little about it.”

Rusty didn’t say anything else about it for the duration of the meal, but he continued to laugh under his breath periodically.

~oOo~

She always dressed and left Stefan naked and tangled in the sheets early in the evening. Stefan usually did not have much of a problem with this as work left him exhausted most week nights. Tonight, something about how Rusty’s giggling at lunch two days earlier had left Stefan conflicted about the whole arrangement.

“Evelyn, do you want to go out?” he asked as she fixed her collar.

“Where would we go?” she asked.

“I dunno, jazz club, dancing, pictures. Whatever you want really.”

“It sounds nice but I can’t tonight,” she said. “Besides, isn’t all of that just a way to butter me up so you can have you way with me later?”

“If you want to go again I can certainly manage it,” said Stefan suggestively.

“I have to get home, but this was lovely. Perhaps I’ll see you next week?” she said.

“Count on it,” said Stefan, grabbing her hand and pulling her in for a goodbye kiss.

She smiled fondly, and pushed a strand of hair from his forehead before she picked up her handbag and left. The door clicked behind her and Stefan leaned back against the headboard and lit a cigarette. She was being kind, he thought. Evelyn would never take him up on an offer to go out on the town for fear her husband might find out. Stefan’s reputation might be in poor shape as well if he were discovered sleeping with a married woman. She was nice, but she was just a bored housewife getting off on cheating on her husband with a detective. She had no fear that Stefan would ask for more, and Stefan had no fear that she would need something he couldn’t give her. The arrangement was comfortable, their time together was pleasant, so long as no one caught wind of it.

Stefan cleaned himself up and dressed, feeling a little restless. He decided to take a walk down past the news stand, smiling slightly at the headline. Though Donnelly had bawled him out earlier in the week, the department managed to come out of the Jennings incident with a bit of a shine. A slow news week meant that the slight sensation of the killing made front page, and suddenly Donnelly was quite pleased with how it had all played out.

Stefan bought a paper, just to see if his name was mentioned and went into a nearby diner for a bite to eat while he read it. Though he didn’t see his name he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. He thought he caught the glimpse of a familiar face leaving the diner, but he couldn’t place it. Strange, he had never had much trouble placing people, normally because their descriptions were kept in his notebook. He ate his hot sandwich more quickly than normal, left some cash on the table and left. He took as circuitous a route home as he could manage, cutting through back yards and parking lots. If someone was following him, he saw no further sign.

Once inside he took extra care to make sure the drapes were closed and the chain-lock was fastened on the door. Peeking out the window, all he could see was the usual evening traffic, a few pedestrians, and shops starting to close. He watched the streetlights bounce off the chrome ornaments of cars for a few moments longer, then sat down at the table to listen to the radio and read the paper until his eyelids started to burn for want of sleep.

He checked the lock again and headed to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He checked the wound on his shoulder. It had closed over weeks ago, but remained an ugly scar, tender and pink. He touched it absently, and found his mind strayed to Cole, bloody hands applying pressure to the wound while Stefan focused on the dust particles in the air, dancing in the shafts of light that filtered in through the upper windows of the warehouse. There was a growing ache in his throat.

“Don’t you dare,” he said to himself, swallowing hard.

He pulled back the covers, still mussed from his earlier activities and climbed beneath them. Maybe one day that scar would turn white and hard, and he could touch it without tenderness and go days without even thinking about it. Maybe one day when Cole crossed his mind he wouldn’t feel that momentary remembrance of pain of a friendship cut short.

~oOo~

“Bekowsky, Galloway. You will be meeting with Biggs at an apartment fire on Rampart,” Donnelly called out the assignments the next morning.

“For arson? That’s almost in Wilshire,” grumbled Rusty.

“For a suspected homicide! Get going!” he shouted.

Stefan didn’t need to be told twice. He heard Rusty grumbling down the stairs behind him as they headed out to the car. His partner wasn’t looking forward to this either, apparently. Stefan drove while Rusty fiddled with the radio. Rusty seemed happiest when static buzzed between stations, and the combination of static and the crackle of the dispatcher calling cars was setting Stefan on edge.

“Just leave it,” Stefan said irately.

“I’ve had enough of that broad warbling about the springtime,” Rusty returned.

“Well, we’re here, so you don’t have to listen to her.”

“You going to tell me what’s biting your ass?” Rusty shot back with equal fire.

“Nothing. Let’s just get this over with.”

Stefan got out of the car to see the smoking brick low rise. Every window was broken, the bricks around them blacked with smoke. An awning above the ground-floor shop had melted into plastic puddles on the sidewalk, leaving the skeletal metal frame hanging desolately above the shop window.

“Hey Bekowsky,” greeted a patrolman.

“Gonzales, good to see you...Jesus, did every apartment get it?”

“Just this one and the one above it,” Gonzales pointed out the two apartments as he spoke. “The rest are all just damaged from water and smoke.”

“Biggs upstairs?” Rusty cut in. 

“Yeah, with the coroner and some guys from the fire department. First apartment at the top of the stairs. Be careful, the whole place is waterlogged.”

“Thanks,” said Stefan.

“He wasn’t kidding,” said Rusty, grasping the stair railing to avoid slipping on the tile floor.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Stefan, following Rusty up the stairs, slippery with ash and water.

Biggs was where Gonzales had said he’d be. His worn jacket seemed more soot-streaked than usual and his tie was too short at the front so the tail hung too long. He was back to counting down the days to his retirement without a partner by the look of things. Something about that made Stefan feel numb for a moment, so he breathed in the damp, ashy air and set the thought aside.

“Bekowsky, Galloway,” Biggs greeted them.

“Why did you call us, Biggs?” Rusty cut straight to the chase.

“That was me actually,” said Carruthers, emerging from the burnt out apartment.

“What have we got?” asked Rusty.

“Come take a look for yourself. It’s not pretty, be forewarned.”

Stefan and Rusty followed Carruthers through the blackened apartment, through the skeletons of incinerated furniture and crumbling sheet-rock, to what must have once been the bedroom. The victim was burnt to a crisp, his arms twisted above his head as though they had been tied to the metal bed-frame. Stefan stood horrified for a moment. He didn’t realize he had turned around and walked out of the room until Biggs caught him on the way back down the stairs.

“Son, they’re calling you,” said Biggs, though Stefan could barely hear him through the ringing in his ears.

“I’m going outside,” Stefan said in a voice that sounded distant to him, suddenly cold all over.

Stefan ducked through the alleyway to the next street, where fewer spectators had gathered than at the front of the building. Even in the warm light of the outside world he could only see that cracked face, someone who had burned in his own bed. He leaned up against the chain link fence in the parking lot, hoping the tree would guard him from those vultures begging the officer for a peek while he fumbled for a cigarette. He couldn’t seem to make his lighter work, or maybe it was his hands that had given up. Gonzales had caught up with him by that point, and silently offered him a light which Stefan found he had trouble taking with his clumsy fingers. 

“I heard it was pretty bad,” Gonzales said quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the onlookers.

Stefan nodded. He didn’t think he would react like that. Hell, he thought he’d seen everything in traffic. Dead bodies didn’t scare him, even kids with their brains dashed out on the windscreens. Somehow this had really gotten under his skin, and he was just waiting for the shit that Rusty would give him for it.

“Wish I’d had a lighter breakfast,” Stefan tried to joke.

“C’mon. Don’t wanna give these guys a free show,” said Gonzales, clapping him on the shoulder and glancing at the small crowd held at bay by a young patrolman and two yellow barriers.

Stefan sincerely did not want to go back into that building, but the last thing he wanted was Rusty to think that he was hysterical. He put out his cigarette on the pavement and made his way back towards the building. He didn’t know whether he was grateful or ashamed when Rusty met him at the door.

“Technical services is going to go over the place, but doesn’t look like they’ll find anything. I didn’t see anything that wasn’t ash,” said Rusty.

“What do we know about the vic?” asked Stefan, recovering his voice.

“Male, looks like he was tied to the bed when the fire was set. Carruthers doesn’t know if he was dead or alive at that point, although he suspects the guy was drugged.”

Stefan nodded, “so you think it’s a murder?”

“It’s hardly likely the guy tied himself up then set fire to his own apartment. Lynch seems to think there was some kind of accelerant used.”

Stefan nodded silently again watching as a covered body came down on a stretcher.

“What’s eating you today?” Rusty said as the coroner’s assistant helped load the body into the back of the black coroner’s van.

“I dunno. I’ve never done that before,” said Stefan, avoiding looking at the lumpy white blanket on the stretcher.

“You’re young. You find you can get used to anything if you see it enough.”

Perhaps it was meant to be comforting, but Rusty’s words ignited a dread in Stefan’s belly.

“C’mon, Bekowsky. We have statements to take.”


	4. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsa and Jack live their lie a longer.

Elsa stood in the limelight, still itching for a fix. She had taken a shot of whiskey for courage in her dressing room, determined that she would not go home to see disappointment on Jack’s face. Floating in a sea of people she was utterly alone, save this private detective she only knew well enough to know he was kind and honourable and just as lonely as she was. This city did that to people, she saw it on the faces of the waiters and bartenders, her band behind her, and the souls that washed in and out of the Blue Room every night. It hollowed out the people and the smiling husks walked the streets, unable to recognize the pain of loneliness behind the superficial masks.

The band began the set, and she took the microphone sensually in her silk glove as she stepped up to sing. 

“Baby, you know I’m guilty...”

Disappearing into the song she closed her eyes, remembering the nights that Cole would come in to nurse a drink and sit in her eye-line. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she thought of Cole, looking content, happy even as he sat at his usual table. The music behind her suddenly felt tense, her band performing the music in functionary tones. 

She opened her eyes to see Roy Earle and two other detectives hassling Walt, the young bar tender, while Alfonse tried to manage the situation. She stumbled on her words, and Alfonse looked at her, gesturing for her to go on. It was no use, the patrons began following her eyes to the bar as the detectives dragged Walt from behind the counter and out through the front of the club, Alfonse still begging them not to make a scene.

“Relax, everyone. We’re just leaving, enjoy your night,” said Roy, backing out with a smug look on his face.

Elsa, her heart pounding in her ears, stepped gracelessly from the stage. She could feel her face contorted inelegantly as she made her way across the floor towards those cold eyes and smug lips. Alfonse caught her before she made it to Roy. In another situation she knew Roy’s fist might have knocked her to the ground, but he just left with a smirk.

“Elsa, please,” begged Alfonse, who Elsa knew also suffered at the hands of Roy Earle, “you must go on.”

Elsa returned to the stage, shaking, but the night had been ruined. Most patrons left, having been disturbed by the intrusion. Alfonse and the waiters offered their profound apologies as the patrons flowed out of the room. She stood at the microphone and watched them go, and when they were gone Alfonse approached the stage.

“Why did they take Walt?” Elsa asked him.

“They say indecent acts.”

“What?” Elsa whispered numbly.

“They have no cause to take anyone during business hours no matter their crime,” Alfonse said bitterly.

“Why now?”

“I don’t know. We are a reputable establishment. What our workers do is none of their business,” he said, his frustration becoming apparent.

“Some kind of revenge? Will they be coming for the band next?” Elsa asked.

“I do not know,” he sighed, and went to tidy the bar in hopes that a new crowd would come.

“Alfonse,” said one of the waiters, as Elsa went back to her dressing room, “we already have a reporter at the door...”

~oOo~

It had been two weeks sleeping on Elsa's sofa, and Jack had to admit he was feeling much less desolate than when she had found him. The worst part was he hardly realized how deep he had been into it, speaking to no one and living so spartanly. The first few days had been difficult, and Jack had not left the apartment at all while Elsa begged him to return her syringe. He had sat up with her while she sweated and shook, feeling terrible that he hadn't thought to check on her sooner. When she came through it all, Jack was left with the impression that her smile would crack at any moment and she would beg for more of the drug.

That morning Jack awoke early to find Elsa awake and wrapped in a dressing gown. Unusual, as she was a night owl. She seemed agitated judging by the crashing of dishes into the sink. He carefully got up, ran a hand through his hair, and entered the kitchen to check on her.

“Elsa. What’s wrong, have you not slept?” he asked.

“They turned over the club last night,” she half-wept.

“Who?”

“The thugs from the LAPD. Roy Earle and his Schweine,” she said.

“Did he hurt you?” asked Jack holding her shoulders gently.

“Not me. They were looking for a bartender...they said he had been...”

She covered her mouth with her fingertips as her lips quivered. Jack tried to be comforting, still stroking her shoulders, unsure what more he could do.

“Let me help, Elsa.”

“You can’t, Jack,” she said quietly, “they say he was caught with another man...”

“Caught doing what?”

“Jack,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh.”

Jack knew Elsa spent her time with all sorts of folks his painfully ordinary family would have abhorred. Jack didn’t care much either way; perhaps if people knew the secrets he kept they would think twice about spending their time with him. His parents certainly would.

“Elsa, I’m not on good terms with any lawyers, I don’t know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You know the District Attorney.”

“Elsa...”

“Please Jack, you can make him throw out the case.”

“How well do you know this guy?” sighed Jack, “If he’s guilty of indecent acts...”

“Who are you to say what is indecent!” she snapped, breaking away from him.

“No one I guess, but who is this guy to you?”

“He is...was Lou’s...”

The spectres of all the dead men Elsa had loved seemed to walk with her at all times, friends and lovers, the patchwork of family she had scrabbled to create. Jack was just the latest in the line. He felt no jealousy, just sorrow for her. If he were so broken he could at least go back to his sisters; right now Elsa only had him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

~oOo~

“Jack Kelso,” Petersen said with a half-smile, “I didn’t think I would see you here again.”

“I’m not here for work, Petersen,” Jack said, taking a seat across from Petersen before the invitation had been extended.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I understand you are in the business of making deals now.”

“I’m in the business of keeping this city clean.”

“As evidenced by your clean sweep of Worrell and the Administrative Vice department,” said Jack sarcastically.

“One step at a time. You can’t change the system from inside if you’re outside looking in.”

“I don’t care much about your reasoning. I’ve been asked to see if there’s anything you can do about a gross indecency charge on Walter Turvey.”

“Yes, the bartender they dragged out of the Blue Room jazz club.”

“You know about it already?”

Petersen dropped the Examiner in front of Jack.

“Neither the Police Department nor the club came out of the article looking too good.”

“At least it’s not the front page,” shrugged Jack.

“No but that’s not looking too good either...”

“So what do you say?”

“As you say, I’m in the business of making deals. I can make this go away if you can bring me something better.”

“What would that be?”

“I still want to deal with corruption in the LAPD. That means Worrell.”

“You’ve already absolved him of all his sins. Including mobilizing the LAPD to try and kill me.”

“You’re a tough man to kill, Jack Kelso. Don’t tell me that there isn’t some little part of you that would like to see him brought to justice for something?”

“I’m not vengeful.”

“Well, here’s the deal, Jack. You work for me again, get me something new on Worrell, I’ll make sure the evidence against Turvey isn’t enough for a case.”

“I accept.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Kelso.”

“You should know,” said Jack, standing and returning his hat to his head, “my fees have gone up.”

~oOo~

“This is wonderful news, Jack,” said Elsa, placing both of her hands on the sides of his face.

“I might even be able to afford my own place again,” he said.

This made Elsa feel sad and untethered but she smiled anyway, and kissed him briefly on the lips. He looked momentarily uncomfortable, but pulled her in with his arm around her back. At this proximity she could see a few grey hairs beginning to show around his temples and the fine lines around his eyes. She traced her fingers behind one of his ears and he closed his eyes and leaned in for a deeper kiss. When they broke apart he smiled slightly, perhaps sadly.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

Jack’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she whispered.

“Prove...? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me, Jack. Would you lift me off my feet and carry me to bed?”

He looked momentarily trapped, and Elsa put her hand on his cheek.

“I would do anything for you, Princess,” he said, but he hesitated, his arm stiffly around her.

“I know about men like you, Jack.”

“No,” said Jack, his arms dropping from her waist.

“You would rather a man.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” he said, stepping back, “that sort of thing gets you into trouble...better to just settle down and have a family...”

Her heart ached momentarily. Neither of them was the type to replicate that myth of happiness. She reached out and took his hand.

“Your secret will always be safe with me,” she said.


	5. Got the Jitters Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rusty doesn't think this case is going anywhere

“Funny isn’t it?”

Rusty swivelled in his chair and Stefan lifted his eyes from the crime scene photos on his desk.

“What’s funny?” asked Stefan, grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Two dead queers in two weeks. Normally it’s all broads killed by their boyfriends and guys shot down in altercations.”

These types of cases had been Rusty’s bread and butter for most of the last two decades. Except for the Black Dahlia and a few unsolved cases from back when he was partnered with Rose, every murder had been a straight line to the killer.

“You think they’re related?” asked Stefan, tapping the photos of the burned out apartment.

“I didn’t say that. The MO’s are completely different.”

“I wonder if there is a connection though. Maybe they knew each other. I have to go interview Ellis’s coworkers.”

“Don’t go trying to make connections that aren’t there. You work the evidence, just like any other case.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

“Hey, you want to waste your time on this go ahead, but the Skipper’ll give you shit again if he finds out you’re trying to trace this back to the Morton case.”

“Such is life,” said Stefan, getting up and pulling his jacket off the back of his chair, “you coming?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“We haven’t been told not to work the Ellis case. Probably because arson is in on it too.”

“It’s gruesome. Makes a good headline regardless of who the vic was.”

Rusty followed Stefan from the room, his hand shaking a little. He shoved it in his suit pocket. He’d make the kid stop somewhere so he could get a drink. Bekowsky was far more accommodating than Phelps in that respect.

“Didn’t you used to be lazy, Bekowsky?” he grumbled as he slid into the passenger seat of the Nash.

“Everyone thought so. I just let them believe it so I could get credit for actually closing cases.”

“Y’know, you’re a lot smarter than I thought you were.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me now,” said Bekowsky sarcastically.

“Christ, are we driving all the way to Wilshire?”

“Nearly. He worked in the travel agency on Oceanview.”

Rusty sat back, crossing his arms across his chest to hide the shaking. He could feel the sweat beading on his lip. He needed a drink but his flask was empty.

“Eyes on the road, Bekowsky!” he snapped when he saw Stefan glance at him.

“They are on the road. What the hell’s your problem?”

“None of your damn business, lets just get these interviews over with.”

When Bekowsky parked on Oceanview, Rusty spotted a liquor store two doors down from the travel agency.

“Think you can handle this on your own?” Rusty asked him.

Stefan’s eyes drew the line between Rusty and the liquor store. His face was unreadable.

“Yeah, I can handle it.”

While Stefan headed to the travel agency, Rusty entered the dim shop and bought the cheapest rye. His rent would be late again this month, all of his pay seemed to disappear between booze and two of his former wives. His first had remarried and was someone else’s problem. He thanked his lucky stars for that small miracle as he walked down the alley. 

With no one around to see him, he sat on a loading dock and took a swig straight from the bottle, then another. When his hands stopped shaking he refilled the flask, carefully screwing the top on and replacing it in his jacket. He finished the remainder, binned the empty bottle, and walked back to the car. Stefan joined him after about a quarter of an hour.

“What did you find out?” Rusty asked.

“Not much. He was well-liked, no one knew much about his private life though.”

“You don’t need people knowing too much about you at work,” Rusty agreed.

Stefan snorted.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You want to eat or something?” asked Stefan, avoiding the line of conversation.

“No, I’ve had my lunch,” said Rusty, patting his jacket pocket.

“Well, I’m going to grab something. Come if you want.”

Stefan got out of the car and made for the nearby diner. Rusty sighed and followed him even though he didn’t have two nickles left to rub together. Stefan sat down at the counter and Rusty sat down beside him, flipping open the paper that someone had left on the linoleum surface. He hardly noticed a young woman sit down on Stefan’s other side.

“Detective Bekowsky,” she said quietly.

“Miss Carter, pleasure to see you again.”

Rusty looked up. She was about twenty, modestly dressed. She must have been a receptionist at the travel agency.

“There’s something you should know about Mr. Ellis. Something I couldn’t tell you when you interviewed me at work...”

“Anything you can tell us will help,” said Stefan, pulling his notebook from his jacket.

“You understand...I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead...”

“Please, Miss Carter.”

“Mr. Ellis and I were friends...good friends. We spent a lot of time together and I had hoped that...that he would ask me to marry him.”

Rusty stifled his snicker with a frown. Miss Carter’s cheeks flushed and Stefan gave him a brief glare.

“You’ll have to excuse my partner. He thinks love is a form of influenza.”

The waitress set a plate with a sandwich in front of Stefan. When Stefan’s back was turned, Rusty took half of the sandwich. Served him right.

“Detective...he was...” Miss Carter lowered her voice to whisper, “he had a friend. A man.”

“We suspected as much. Do you know anything about him?”

“Just his first name. Carl.”

“Anything else? Do you know where he works, where he visits.”

“No...but his car. He drives a Ford, 2-doors, blue...I’m afraid I don’t know anything else.”

“Thank you, Miss Carter. You may have given us a lead. If you think of anything else, you can contact us at Central Police Station.”

“Of course, Detective...please just find the person who did this. Mr. Ellis—Arthur—he may not have been the man for me, but he was a good friend.”

Miss Carter left, and Stefan swivelled on his chair and looked at his plate, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes.

“Rusty, did you eat my sandwich?”

“No.”

“That’d be more convincing if you didn’t have tuna on your face, Finbarr.”

Rusty wiped at the corners of his mouth while Stefan dropped a few coins on the table, took the remaining half of his sandwich and headed for the door. 

“I told you before, don’t call me Finbarr,” he snapped at Bekowsky.

Bekowsky didn’t answer, just ate his sandwich as he headed to the nearest gamewell. Rusty sat down in the car only to hear KGPL calling for them.

“Go ahead KGPL.”

“Request you go to Wilshire station to meet Detective Biggs.”

“Roger that,” he said.

After a couple minutes Stefan returned and sat down in the driver’s seat.

“R&I said they’d need some time,” he reported.

“Well it’s not much to go on. A first name and a Ford. Broad’s lucky he didn’t want to marry her.”

Stefan started the car and was about to turn back toward Central before Rusty remembered the message.

“We have to go to Wilshire and talk to Biggs.”

“How long have you been sitting on that one?” griped Stefan.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Bekowsky, they just made the call.”

Stefan didn’t respond, instead he drove sullenly, his hand gripping the wheel so that his knuckles went white. He did this from time-to-time, Rusty had noticed, when he was mad about something. Normally Rusty would ignore it—let a man be angry the way he wants to—but he couldn’t stand the silence right now.

“Is this about the sandwich—”

“It’s not about the fucking sandwich,” Stefan snapped almost before Rusty had finished.

“Well what’s it about?”

“I don’t think you realize how drunk you are right now. You just went from jitters to sauced. If we run into trouble, I don’t like the idea of you having my back.”

“What kind of trouble are we going to run into at Wilshire?”

“I mean if we respond to a call.”

“You know who never—”

“Floyd Rose! The answer is always Floyd Rose! Y’know Rusty, maybe Rose didn’t care if you were drunk because it made it easier for him to take bribes and cut you out.”

Rose hadn’t always cut him out, but even if he was a little drunk, he wasn’t about to go blabbing that to Bekowsky. He certainly didn’t worry about whether he could make rent in those days, and Rose had always been generous with his bar tab. Might just be a matter of time until someone dug up someone’s old notebook where his name was written. The thirties had been a different time...then he’d had three ex-wives looking for money.

Stefan parked in the side lot at Wilshire and they met Biggs upstairs. Rusty never cared much for Biggs, but who did? The guy was a head case, he wouldn’t work with anyone, and he’d been wearing the same sooty suit since before the war. Rusty checked at the wear on his own sleeve as he and Bekowsky checked in with the desk sergeant.

“Galloway, Bekowsky. Biggs is upstairs waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” said Stefan, and they headed upstairs.

Rusty was out of breath by the time they reached the top. Rusty could see in his partner’s glance that he had decided to take the lead. Let him, Rusty thought.

“Biggs, what’ve you got?” Stefan asked, taking a seat across from the old detective.

“Bekowsky, right?”

“Yeah,” said Stefan.

Rusty smiled at how taken aback Stefan was. Perhaps the kid would stow the attitude after Biggs’s sleight. At least Biggs knew who he was, Rusty smirked to himself. Biggs flipped open a file with crime scene photographs and slid it across to Stefan.

“What am I looking at?”

“This,” said Biggs pointing to the photo, “you see how the flames spread out from here? This pattern is usually seen when an accelerant is used.”

“Okay...” said Bekowsky, clearly not understanding.

“It means that someone probably splashed some gas around. This is criminal intent.”

Rusty picked up a photo, accidentally bumping into Stefan as he did so. Stefan turned his head to shoot Rusty a look, but didn’t actually make eye contact.

“You want to take a load off, Galloway?” Biggs suggested.

“So you called us down here to show us some pictures?” Rusty returned, obstinately not sitting.

“You’re looking at our case. Here’s a similar one from ‘41.”

Biggs flipped open another file and showed them the photos of another burnt out apartment, another corpse on a burnt out mattress. Stefan glanced at the photos and pushed it over to Rusty.

“Big deal,” said Rusty, “you probably get lots of poor bastards burn to death while they’re sleeping”

Biggs ignored Rusty and spoke directly to Stefan.

“I read the coroner’s report. No smoke in the lungs, fastened to the bed. This looks like a sloppy attempt at a cover-up.”

“Was this one treated as a murder as well?” asked Stefan, tapping the folder from 1941.

“We arrested a firebug for it, closed the case. Homicide wasn’t involved.”

“And what happened to him?” asked Rusty.

“He’s still behind bars,” said Biggs.

“Well, did the papers report on it?”

“Of Course.”

“Copycat.”

“Do you have the victim’s details?” asked Stefan.

“Sure,” said Biggs, flipping through the folder.

“C’mon Bekowsky. Where do you think this is going to get us?”

“Well, at the very least, we’ll be investigating something gruesome enough to keep us in the papers,” he said, jotting notes in his notebook.

~oOo~

That evening Rusty had scraped up enough cash to head down to the lanes. He sat at the table behind his usual lane, filling the ashtray as he worked his way through several cigarettes out of impatience. Floyd joined him after a while.

“We going to bowl of just sit here?” he asked.

Rusty didn’t say anything as he stepped down to the lane with the score sheet.

“I heard something interesting,” said Floyd.

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m working a case. Husband hired me to see who his wife is knocking boots with,” he said.

“Jesus, is that all the P.I.’s do in this town? Peep through windows?”

Rusty realized he was being a little sensitive about it, given that it was how his second wife had secured their divorce.

“Work’s work. But I’m bringing this to you because of the kind of client this guy is.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Tell the Pole to call it quits with the broad he’s porking. My client doesn’t know it’s him, but he could find himself in a tough spot if he finds out.”

“You doing divorces now?”

“He doesn’t want to divorce her. If this was anyone else, I’d just hand over the name, but I know he’s your partner.”

“Shit, I’ve got to go,” said Rusty.

If Floyd was telling him this, Stefan must really be in trouble.

“What, we’re not even going to bowl?”

“Next time.”

Rusty borrowed the phone at the shoe rental counter. Stefan had stayed late at the station, looking for possible leads on the Ellis case in the old file. He called the station, but the desk sergeant told him Stefan had already left for the night. He tried Stefan’s apartment, but there was no answer.

“I’m sorry sir,” said the operator, “I can let it ring a little longer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Rusty, returning the phone to its cradle.


	6. Love and Career

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stefan makes a stand...sort of.

Stefan wrapped his arms around Evelyn’s back, his fingers trailing the smooth skin as his wooden headboard left a trail of lines in his own back. She liked it this way, and wasn’t afraid to tell him, he’d always liked that about older women. Not to mention, she was doing most of the work. She pressed against him, and pulled him in for a kiss as their pace increased.

A sudden pounding at the door brought their love-making to an abrupt halt.

“Do people normally knock on your door this late?” Evelyn asked, her fearful eyes reflecting the light from the street.

They both sat frozen, Stefan still inside of her, though the sudden pounding on his door had taken some of the enthusiasm out of him. When the pounding at the door came again they disentangled themselves from each other and Stefan wrapped a sheet from the bed around his waist.

“Get dressed, hide,” he said, rifling through his nightstand drawer for his revolver.

“You left it on the counter.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit...”

“It won’t be my husband, he doesn’t suspect—”

“Evelyn just stay in here!” he said, yanking open the bedroom door and scrambling down the hall and to the counter.

He had a horrible thought that the LAPD might find him days later, shot-through and naked on his kitchen floor and he only wished he’d thought to put on pants.

“Bekowsky, open up!” came the voice on the other side of the door.

“Rusty?” he said a just second before his partner kicked in the door and stood, dimly lit from the hall light at his back, with two hands on his gun.

“Jesus Christ, Rusty, it’s me! Put the gun down!”

Rusty dropped his arm to his side and flicked on the light, his face registering a sort of surprise at the sight of Stefan’s pale body. Stefan tried to gather the sheet around his middle with as much dignity has he could muster. As Rusty tried to close the damaged door behind him, Stefan felt the brief relief turn to anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“She in the bedroom?”

Stefan strode towards his partner to stand in his way of his path to the bedroom. Rusty stepped back, clearly not interested happy with Stefan’s nearly naked body entering his personal space.

“Easy Bekowsky, I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“Why are you here?” Stefan asked through clenched teeth.

“Tell her to go home,” Rusty said.

“Fuck, Rusty. C’mon.”

“Trust me, kid.”

Trusting Rusty was the last thing he wanted to do. He had been a drunken pain in the ass the last two days. His posturing with Biggs, violent mood swings, and total inability to get any work done while he was either sober or drunk had meant that Stefan had done the lion’s share while Rusty complained about every aspect of the case. Needless to say this was all before Rusty had broken down his door to burst in on him while he was having it off.

Evelyn emerged from the bedroom at that point, fully dressed. Rusty turned to her.

“Did you tell him who your husband is?”

“Of course not. We had other business to attend to, and talking about one’s husband tends to bring down the mood.”

“So he’s not even the first poor bastard you’ve done this to? You’re a piece of work, lady.”

“Rusty, shut up. Evelyn, just go. Please,” said Stefan.

Evelyn left, closing the broken door behind her as much as it would go. Stefan watched after her, anger building in his chest.

“You have one minute to tell me why the fuck you’re here,” he said calmly.

“I can’t believe you’re making it with a married broad.”

“Rusty don’t you dare tell me you haven’t.”

“Only ones I was married to. I like my face the way it is, and any man whose not a sad sister tends to rearrange the face of a guy who’s fucking his wife.”

“We were discreet. And I can handle myself.”

“You haven’t noticed anyone watching you the last few weeks? Her husband hired Floyd Rose to find out who she was sleeping with.”

Stefan could feel the embarrassment creeping in. Of course.

“Who’s her husband?”

“He didn’t say, but he told me you need to break it off or it sounds like he’s going to break you off.”

Stefan set his revolver on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa, his forearms resting on his thighs. Rusty sat down in the armchair, holstering his side arm. Stefan scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Why did Rose tell you this? Why not take the money and let the guy put my lights out?”

“I dunno. He said it was because you’re my partner.”

“So he’d let anyone else get whacked?”

“I’m not sure you won’t get whacked. Floyd works for some real asswipes.”

“I’m so surprised!” Stefan said sarcastically.

“Hey, I ruined my night to come here and save your pasty ass.”

“Oh, is this about you again?”

“Stefan, shut up and listen to me.”

And he did, because he couldn’t recall a time when Rusty had ever used his first name.

“I’m not an idiot, I knew Floyd was taking bribes. The man lost evidence for homicides more often than he found it. His clients are the same shitbirds who were paying him off.”

Stefan wasn’t naive, he knew that cops took bribes. He’d even taken a couple to ignore moving violations on the advice of his first partner in traffic, and he didn’t feel great about it, but nothing so serious as murder.

“And you never said anything...” said Stefan.

“C’mon...that’s what you’re taking from this?”

Stefan rubbed his temple and considered telling Rusty to get out.

“Look, you don’t sell out the man you’re working with. No matter how much you may or may not like him. They put us together, and I’m getting a little tired of changing partners every few months.”

“That’s a beautiful speech, Rusty,” said Stefan caustically, getting up.

“Where’re you going?”

“Oh were you enjoying my naked body?”

“Fuck you, Bekowsky,” Rusty snapped at Stefan’s turned back.

“Fix my door, Finbarr,” said Stefan, forcefully closing his bedroom door.

~oOo~

“This is a dead end,” said Stefan.

He stared at the photos spread out of his desk of the two burned out crime scenes. Following up on the two leads from the 1941 case he found that one had died in the war, the other had been declared a missing person in 1945. R&I had found nothing on Ellis’s friend with the blue Ford. Would Cole have seen something that the rest of them had missed?

“Can’t solve ‘em all, Bekowsky,” said Rusty, turning in response to Stefan’s frustrated declaration.

Stefan looked up, not exactly ready to forgive Rusty yet. Granted, he had fixed the door he had kicked in, but Stefan had nearly filed for a transfer back to Traffic Division the next morning. The only thing that had stopped him was his apprehension about pissing off Donnelly on the off chance the transfer wasn’t approved. Though, he hadn’t entirely talked himself out of the idea yet...

“Galloway. Bekowsky.”

Stefan looked up to see a familiar smirk in an over-priced suit striding toward them, and turned to Rusty.

“What the hell’s he doing here?” and back to Roy, “Earle, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Easy, Bekowsky,” said Roy, half sitting on Stefan’s desk and lighting a cigarette, “brought in someone I heard you’d like to see.”

“Oh yeah?” he said disinterestedly.

“Paul Bennett.”

“You’re kidding,” said Rusty.

“We got a tip last night about a gathering of his sort. Couldn’t believe this guy already had an APB out on him.”

“Commies or fags?” grumbled Rusty.

“Looked like a little of each.”

“And they needed a detective to oversee this transfer?” Stefan said, though he suspected Roy had come for reasons relating to his own ego.

“I had to be in the neighbourhood anyway. He’s downstairs in 2, Donnelly’s softening him up for us.”

“Us? No,” said Stefan, getting to his feet, “this is a homicide case.”

Roy also stood, his flat congeniality flipping to to his usual grinding anger.

“I picked him up on charges of immorality and indecency, which falls under the purview of Ad Vice.”

“Bekowsky,” interrupted Rusty, “just do the interview with Earle.”

“Fine, but I’m asking the questions,” Stefan replied shortly, leading the way downstairs.

Donnelly had just emerged from the interview room shaking out his hand.

“This is a particularly pathetic creature. A red and a degenerate,” he said, “it took very little to convince him of his eternal damnation. Secure a confession, boys, and close the case.”

Stefan entered the interview room and sat down across from Bennett. Roy leaned apathetically against the back wall, his arms crossed, his foot braced against the wall. Even though Roy was stock-still behind Bennett, he somehow acted as though he was in control of the interview. Stefan tried not to let his annoyance get in the way of the control that he had.

He looked across at Bennett, who looked as pathetic as Donnelly had said. Instead of revulsion, Stefan found himself feeling pity for this man who sat across from him. Dishevelled from a night at the hands of the vice squad, and bleeding at the lip from Donnelly’s treatment only moments before, Bennett sat with the sort of composure of someone heading calmly to their doom.

Stefan flipped open his notebook and began the interview in a low, calm voice.

“Paul Bennett. Your best friend, James Morton was murdered three weeks ago. You left town before the funeral. Why?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“We’ve already go you on gross indecency,” Roy called from the wall, “no skin off my nose if you end up charged with murder too.”

“What he your boyfriend, Paul?” Stefan asked gently.

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?”

“We were friends, that’s all.”

“The coroner informs me that Morton had a sexual encounter with a man shortly before his death.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Bennett hesitated.

“C’mon, Paul. Give me a name,” Stefan pressed, raising his voice a little.

“I don’t have a name. I don’t know if he was seeing anyone regularly. James tended to sleep around.”

“Christ, this is going nowhere,” complained Roy, pushing off the wall to hover closer to the interview table.

Stefan tuned him out.

“Did this make you jealous?” Stefan asked.

“No, I don’t have room for such petty jealousy in my life.”

Roy rolled his eyes, but Stefan kept his composure.

“So, did you kill him?” Stefan asked.

“Of course not!”

Bennett slammed his hands on the table in anger, partially rising from his chair. He shrank back into his seat as Roy stepped closer.

“Alright then, how did you find out about James Morton’s death?”

“His wife called me.”

“And you left town only hours after that, why?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try. You look good for this, and we want to close this case so the Morton’s can have some peace.” 

Stefan was impressed with how well he was able to keep to the party line. Truthfully, Stefan knew Donnelly was all about the numbers; how many convictions could they get, how many misfits could they get off the streets in the process. Donnelly wanted this case closed so he could mark another case closed for the year; he wasn’t concerned with peace for the Morton’s.

“About a week before his death...we were threatened. A few guys, ex-military. I don’t know how they knew...what we were but, they were pissed off that James had served. A bunch of drunken assholes. We didn’t think much of it at the time, but when James...I got scared. I took off.”

“So why come back?”

Bennett’s eyes darted to Roy and the muscles in his jaw tensed visibly.

“I’m not saying anything else.”

“We already got your boyfriend, Bennett,” announced Roy, “you didn’t protect him, you just got him into more trouble.”

Bennett just pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Paul,” said Stefan gently, trying to restore calm in the room, “where did you run into the drunk military guys?”

“I think they were drinking at Baron’s Bar, or somewhere around there. Right after the New Year.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Stefan got up, knowing what awaited him on the other side of the door. Roy hardly seemed invested—he already had his arrest—but Rusty and Donnelly were inveterate law men of the old school. Stefan had no doubt that the captain would try and send him back in there to wrangle a confession even though any evidence trying Bennett to the murder was circumstantial at best.

“This is a most unsatisfactory outcome,” Donnelly said before Stefan had even closed the door.

“We have a new lead.”

“You’re not Phelps, son, so I will not stand for this malarkey. The man is a sodomite and a killer. I want this case closed, and you are embarrassing the department with your approach! Go back in there and secure a confession, use force if you must!”

Stefan hesitated for a moment, Rusty’s expression encouraging him to return to the interview room. Stefan’s hand was on the door when Roy spoke.

“He’s already under arrest.”

“Yes, Earle. But in homicide we have a higher calling; to mete out justice to those who have broken the most sacred laws of man.”

Stefan’s knuckles where whitening on the doorknob. Donnelly could send him back to traffic or bust him back down to a beat cop. Was it even worth staying in homicide when he was closing cases at the whim of of a department that was more interested in numbers than justice?

He yanked open the door and entered the interview room alone. He slammed the door behind him and crossed the room. He grabbed Bennett by the collar and dragged him from his seat.

“Did you kill James Morton?”

“No! I’ve told you already!”

Bennett raised an arm to protect his face, and Stefan realized his fist was balled to strike. He let go of Bennett’s shirt, roughly letting him fall back into his chair. He left the room and walked away, ignoring Donnelly’s shouts as he crossed the station.

“Bekowsky! In my office!”

Stefan stopped in his tracks. Everyone in the station was staring at him. He could run out the front door and abandon his career or he could take his licks in Donnelly’s office. He looked back to see Roy looking entertained, Rusty unreadable, and Donnelly red with fury. He took the stairs two at a time to Donnelly’s office, his captain right on his heels. Donnelly slammed the door behind him, the glass panes vibrating from the force.

“Bekowsky, you’re suspended pending fitness review.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cleaned up a few minor things in this chapter, and the next one is nearly finished so thanks for staying with me.


End file.
